


dilige et quod vis fac

by pocketmouse



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Emotional Constipation, M/M, Multi, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:51:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketmouse/pseuds/pocketmouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love does not preclude fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/gifts).



“I’m still not sure how you talked me into this.” To a stranger, it might be mistaken for true complaint. But to someone more familiar with Albert Rosenfield, the fondness is unmistakable, whether it be from the tone, the lack of ten-dollar words, or the way he tugs the pillows to make room for Dale and Harry both on the mattress. “Ugh! You smell like a park went to the gym and died there.” Slightly less fond.

“Grass clippings, Albert,” Dale replies, a scattering of them tripping across his arm in a manner not unlike bloodspray. There’s a long grass stain at the edge of his shorts that presumably carries on over his thigh. “I don’t think this lawn has seen a mower since May.” He is also distinctly sunburned around the edges.

“Why don’t you wait a few more months and let the winter take care of it? Or hell, go all out, buy a sheep.”

“Well, we’ve already got a billy-goat,” Harry says. Albert actually looks over his shoulder suspiciously for a second before he realizes Harry means him.

“Cute.”

“I thought so.” Harry grins. “You know, clearing out the yard would go a lot faster if you would help,” he points out. He isn’t quite as messy-looking as Dale, and carries more of a tanned glow than a burn, but he’s every bit as sweaty.

“While you two have been outside giving yourselves heatstroke, I have been repainting half the rooms in this house, putting the kitchen into some pathetic semblance of order, and making sure nothing in the bathroom will give us tetanus, hepatitis, or worse.” Albert does, in fact, bear a couple of spatters of a light blue-green color the paint company had seen fit to call ‘morning sky,’ though the color doesn’t resemble most Washington mornings at all. “Did you accomplish anything besides cutting back some live plants that are guaranteed to grow back within two weeks to a month?”

“I’m considering putting a koi pond in the east corner,” Dale answers.

“You’re not bringing them inside in the winter, unless it’s for dinner.”

“I told him it wouldn’t be worth it if he’s only gonna be here every so often,” Harry says. “The lawn’s down to a reasonable level, you don’t need a machete to find the property line any more. Tomorrow we’ll get at the edges with the weed-whacker, and then I’ll see what I can do about the garage.”

Cooper lets out a noise that’s too tired to be a groan. “The garage,” he repeats despairingly. He rolls over, draping himself half over Albert. Albert huffs but doesn’t protest.

“It’s okay while you’re moving in, but eventually someone’s gonna question the cars, Coop.”

“I know, I know.” Harry pats his hair in sympathy. In deference to the amount of manual labor they’d be doing, Cooper had done no more than comb his hair that morning, and the strands he’d kept flicking out of his eyes all afternoon are soft and tempting. “What’ve you got left for tomorrow, Albert?”

“The rest of the painting, putting the furniture back where it belongs. I _know_ better than to touch the bookcases,” he continues, directing the sentence at Cooper without looking down. “But I’ll probably start on the office. The washer and dryer won’t be delivered and hooked up until next week, so don’t make more of a mess than you already have,” he adds dryly, gesturing at the mess of Goodwill-quality sheets on the bed, pillowcases mismatched.

“Audrey will let us borrow some if it comes to that,” Cooper says confidently.

“I am not borrowing sheets that have been used by countless other individuals with who knows what vices.”

“The accounting books at the Great Northern are impeccable, I’m sure you could calculate how many guests per set of bedlinen. On average. Though I doubt the Great Northern asks after their particular vices.”

“Considering the habits of their former owner, they just might.” Cooper makes a face but can’t seem to come up with a viable retort. Instead he turns into Harry’s hand, encouraging the idle petting. Harry gradually slides down the bed, his head pillowed more by Albert’s shoulder than the actual pillow, and Albert winds up slinging an arm around his waist, fingers playing with the gathered edge of his shorts. They remain that way in silence for several minutes. The shadows grow longer on the walls and the slight breeze through the windows cools.

“We should shower,” Dale says at last. Albert makes a noise of agreement.

“Is this going to turn into another round of ‘test the capacity of the hot water tank with individual showers?’ Harry asks, slightly plaintive.

“Yes,” the two federal agents reply in sync. “It should be the last time,” Albert adds. “Though I might want to test capacity overall again once the washer and dryer are installed. But that doesn’t have to involve individual showers.” The look he sends Harry’s way is just shy of a leer.

“Sex in the shower is dangerous,” Cooper’s voice takes on a lecturing tone. “If you’re going to engage in such an activity I’d request you notify me in advance, so I can be ready to administer first aid should anything untoward occur.”

“Someday you are going to tell me who spoiled shower sex for you.” The rapid reddening of Cooper’s face suggests that won’t be likely.

* * *

It happened in a hotel just over the state line into Oregon. They’ve been too busy being relieved that Cooper’s fled south to care about the technicalities of Harry’s official status, especially since Albert could pull strings if needed. Or possibly brow-beat his way through it. But Harry came back to the hotel room, pulled the paper bag with their takeout from underneath his jacket where he’d put it to protect it from the rain, and found Albert sitting on the bed, tear tracks visible on his face.

Harry set the food down. “Albert?” He crouched down next to him.

“What if we can’t get him back?”

“Hey, don’t talk like that.” He sat carefully. “Annie says she can get him back. That’s why BOB ran, he knew there was someone more powerful after him.”

“Glinda said she could get BOB _out_ , that doesn’t mean she can get Cooper back. And that’s nothing to say about what BOB could be doing to him in the meantime.” Albert gripped his arm, eyes bright. “This is his _soul_ we’re talking about here, if you believe in that kind of thing. Name for me a single person who’s come back from either your Black Lodge or White Lodge and hasn’t been fundamentally changed.”

He couldn’t. Even Annie was spacey sometimes to the point that she made Nadine look sane. To say nothing of the near-compulsive Bible quoting. “You can’t tell me that’s worse than leaving him there, though.” Albert flinched. “If you loved him at all, you wouldn’t hesitate for a heartbeat.”

Albert lunged, and Harry was so taken by surprise that he couldn’t get his arms up in time to defend himself. He was pinned to the bed by his shoulders. “Don’t you ever so much as imply that I don’t love him. Dale Cooper is on the extremely short list of people I respect and admire wholeheartedly, and his worth is in many ways uncountable. This world would be in a sorrier state without him in it, exactly as he has been for as long as I know him. Any potential loss —“

Harry yanked him in closer, mashing their lips together in a violent kiss. He used the moment of surprise to take control, twisting hips against hips until their positions were reversed. “Don’t you dare suggest that Cooper might be ‘damaged,’ or in any way not good enough because of what he’s going through right now.” He ground down again. 

“Fuck you.” Possibly he meant it literally, as he started tugging Harry’s shirt out of his waistband, half hard in his trousers. “We’re going up against the literal embodiment of the evil that men do, I have every right to worry —“ he broke off with a gasp.

Harry bit at his pulse point again. “We’re going up against something that apparently feeds on fear, so you need to get over your worries and decide what you’re going to do, regardless.”

“Or what, you’ll fuck the worry out of me?”

“If I have to.” Albert’s words may have been sarcasm, but Harry found as he spoke that he was deadly serious. If they were to truly to pull Cooper from BOB’s clutches, there could not be one instant of hesitation in what they had to do, no trace of fear while in his presence. 

“Good luck with that.” A few quick movements between them and Albert was pushing Harry’s jeans and underwear down together. He kicked them off hastily, moving to return the favor, but Albert had already beaten him to it. He bit at his lower lip in retaliation, once and then again, harder, reveling in the low growl that elicited. They rutted together like animals, him doing anything to keep Albert from fucking _talking_ , Albert grasping at him hard enough that his hips were going to be covered in finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. It was at once almost mindless, seeking comfort and release in the one familiar thing around them, and at the same time full of a kind of passion that Harry had never felt before. He needed this: needed Albert here, needed his angry skepticism and coarse love, that sharp intellect and groundedness. Coop was — who the hell knew where Coop was, just out of their grasp, always. Not _here_ , and he _wanted_ — 

Albert gave a hoarse shout as he came, and Harry’s kisses turned frantic, demanding, and he reached between them, ignoring Albert’s slight hiss as he stroked both their cocks together, the slick feeling of their flesh moving together, jism easing the glide as he considered turning him over, _actually_ fucking him, for a moment, but then one of Albert’s hands joined his own, squeezing so hard it was painful, and he came so hard he swore there were fireworks going off behind his eyes. 

They laid there for a moment, breathing heavily, Harry waiting for the pressure in his head to equalize. He realized they were both still half dressed when Albert shoved him off him and stood, unbuttoning his shirt. “Get off, you’re disgusting.”

He pulled away. “Sorry, I don’t —“

“Shut up.” Albert flung his shirt and then his undershirt over the bed, where it slid down the wall. “You’re sweaty and covered in jizz, and you smell like wet dog. Now come on, I want to blow you in the shower.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Well, you’re certainly looking better than the last time I saw you.”

Dale looks up, a smile lighting up his face. “Annie! Harry said he’d ask you to come by; I didn’t expect to see you so soon. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” Annie sits across from him, taking both his hands in hers. “How are you feeling?”

Dale sobers, taking a deep breath. “You know, I honestly couldn’t say. Physically, I feel fine. Maybe too fine — Doctor Hayward said I should still be feeling the aftereffects of the concussion, but other than the memory loss, I’m right as rain. But having this blank spot in my memory is more unnerving to me. I rely on my observational skills to do my work, and I can’t remember anything after I followed you and Earle into the sycamore grove.”

“I’m sure the doctors said something about head trauma or the mind’s ways of protecting itself from a traumatic event,” Annie starts. Dale nods, but internally he’s unconvinced. “And that may be some of it. But definitely not all.” She leans in. “Can you keep a secret?”

“As long as it’s not anything illegal.” Annie smiles at his tone.

“I’ll leave that up to you to decide,” she says, a bit enigmatically. “I’ve been holding on to those memories for you.” She leans in, one hand at his side for balance. Her scent fills his nostrils. Her lips at his temple are warm, so warm, and then it’s like a wave of warm water rushes through him, breaking the last of an unnoticed layer of ice, but it’s so smooth, so seamless, like the last moment of the winter thawing into spring. For a moment all he can see is white.

“Oh.”

He can remember every instant of what happened in the Black Lodge, but from a sort of remove. They’re like a dream after it’s faded, or trying to remember a friend you haven’t seen in years — years, that’s what it is. Time moves differently in that place, he was trapped there less than a week from this perspective, but from his, it had been… decades. And now it feels like it had all happened decades ago. Dale looks at her in amazement. “How did you do that?”

Annie picks up his hand again. “I’ve faced my fears.” She moves it to her wrist, which is smooth and unblemished. Maybe she might call it a miracle.

“I thought my only fear was of losing you.”

“Fear of losing someone is just another expression of love. Fear of love, though, is still fear.”

Dale swallows. The warmth drifts away. “I’m not afraid of love.”

Annie smiles at him. “Dale, I know what you’re afraid of. It’s the same thing I was afraid of. And I’m going to tell you something I wish I’d had the courage to believe when I was younger. It’s never wrong to love. You’re capable of so _much_ love, Dale, and it amazes me.” She squeezes his hand. “It’s been your stumbling block before, hasn’t it? Don’t let it become your lodestone.”

Dale’s heart is racing. She doesn’t really know. She can’t know. But he remembers that all-engulfing white light, and he knows, deep in his heart, that she does. She knows every corner of his being. “Then you know I love you too.” 

Annie’s smile gets a little sadder. “I do. And a part of me wants to be selfish, and take that love, and not share it with anyone else. But that would be wrong. And I —“ she sighs. “I need to go back to the convent. Not forever, I don’t think, but I need to reflect on what happened to me, and the sisters there can help me in a way no one outside of those walls can.”

“I’ll wait for you —“

“No, you’ve put your life on hold too many times. Don’t try and make a martyr of yourself, Dale.” 

Dale sucks in a deep breath. “Annie, I don’t know if this is a fear I can ever conquer. I’ve treated Albert poorly for years, and I don’t know if he can ever truly forgive me, let alone compromise to share me with another, let alone someone he only loves on principle. And Harry…”

“Harry is loyal to a fault. And I have a feeling your Agent Rosenfield is the same way. You’re still letting fear cloud your judgement. Love is not diminished by being shared.” She leans in to kiss him gently. “I love you, Dale. And I need to know that you’re happy.”

 

Annie’s words may have been full of confidence, but Dale finds himself still a coward. Albert seems to have formed a fragile peace with the members of the Twin Peaks Sheriff’s Department. It is so rare for him to work with anyone who will do more than just tolerate him, and Dale finds himself loath to disrupt that. It’s a sorry excuse for not stepping forward, but he clings to it.

And then one day, Albert says the magic words that sends the world crashing back down around his shoulders.

“So what are you going to do when your medical leave is over?”

Windom Earle is gone — dead, or worse — and Albert has just about completed the investigation into the explosion at the bank, his excuse for being in Twin Peaks so often. There is no reason for him to stay. Once he is declared officially well, he will be expected back at the San Francisco office.

It’s probably for the best.

“I am still considering purchasing some property in the area,” he says slowly, expecting the statement to draw a sarcastic remark from Albert, but it appears to be beneath his contempt. “But I suppose that will have to wait, or can be conducted during my own personal time. In the meantime I will go back to the Bureau, and things will…” he hesitates. “Go back to the usual routine.”

Albert looks almost disappointed. 

 

Dale pauses at the concierge desk, mail in hand. He should reach out, do something. “Can you tell me the extension for Special Agent Rosenfield’s room?” 

The concierge flips through a book for a moment, then shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t have anyone by that name staying here.” 

He frowns. “He’s checked out already?”

She looks some more. “We don’t have anyone by that name registered for the last several weeks.” 

“My mistake, then. Thank you for your time.” He nods, and moves towards the hallway. If he’s not at the Great Northern, where has he been staying the past two weeks?

* * *

The buffoon act in the station lobby earned a minor point to their credit as Tweedledee sent Tweedledum out to retrieve dry clothes for everyone, though Albert sincerely hoped that he’d never find out who, exactly, got the job of rifling through their belongings to put something together. He could, but he was satisfied with leaving it at ‘someone who isn’t color blind.’ He left the body for Doc Hayward as well — even someone who got their medical degree off the back of a cereal box could figure this one out, especially with three eyewitness statements. Himself included. 

This was not the side of the crime scene he was supposed to be on.

They stumbled through brief showers in the cramped plastic shower stall at the end of the hallway, to warm up after the freezing cold of the sprinkler water, which probably came straight out of the river and definitely hadn’t been treated. Tweedledee was apparently only able to find two of the smallest bath towels known to man, which meant they had to share, so hygiene was only nominally possible, in truth. Still, at this point Albert didn’t care. He toweled off quickly and pulled on dry clothes, hoping to leave the unsettling feeling of the night behind with the damp. It didn’t quite work, and he joined Cooper in the good Sheriff’s office, collapsing carefully into a newspaper-draped chair with a stiff cup of coffee — so stiff it probably had more Irish than joe. It was exactly what he needed.

Cooper didn’t say a word, and Albert studied him out of the corner of his eye. His color was fine, and there was no way to say if he was studying his coffee a little too closely or not, considering how much he liked the local swill. Maybe he was communing with giants again. But no matter what kind of freaky cases he usually handled, experiencing death up close was always unpleasant for those who didn’t live with it day in and day out.

And maybe even a little bit for those who did.

“Coop?”

“I’ll be all right, Albert.”

The elided fact that he wasn’t all right now didn’t escape notice. Albert pulled his chair close to Cooper’s, banging their knees together almost painfully. Cooper didn’t react to that though, just swayed forward a little until his forehead was resting against Albert’s shoulder, eyes still gazing out at nothing, or something only he could see. He should say something comforting, but he couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t come across as snide. Instead he just gripped Cooper’s elbow, half patting at it awkwardly. 

“Let me drive you back to the hotel.” Albert looked up at the Sheriff’s quiet voice, but Cooper didn’t move at all. Sheriff Truman just stared back at him calmly, his face impossible to read, no sign of any reaction to the way Cooper was slumped against him, or Albert allowing it. “I’ve got to meet Maudette at the library, she’s got some equipment we can use to dry everything out, save as much of the paperwork as we can. The Great Northern’s on the way.” The town was so small that everything was on its way.

Cooper sat up. “Harry, you’re going to be up all night trying to recover from this. Let us help.” Albert huffed a little at Cooper volunteering both of them, but said nothing. 

Truman shook his head. “It’ll be fine, I’ll call the boys in, set up shifts. I may not get eight hours, but I’ll at least get forty winks.”

Coop tried to insist a second time, but Albert was too exhausted to even pretend niceness any more. “Get in the damn car.”

Truman actually laughed at that. “Wise words from Agent Rosenfield. Come on Coop, we’ll need somebody awake tomorrow.” Cooper let himself be led, then, and with the red-and-blues silently flashing, it was a quicker drive back to the hotel than was probably legal, not that Albert had any intention of complaining. He was dead on his feet, to the point where it wasn’t until he was opening the door to his room that he realized Cooper was still behind him.

“You lost?”

Cooper didn’t have to say anything, just _looked_ at him, and Albert found himself ushering him inside. Cooper just stood there and let Albert undress him down to his underwear, moving him where needed and falling softly back onto the bed when pushed. He undressed himself and climbed in behind the other man, curling around him as much as he dared. Cooper drew his hands around him in a full embrace, but remained stiff, facing away from him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know we said we wouldn’t do this again, and it’s wrong of me to ask you now, Albert, but I can’t —“

“Shhhh.” Albert’s will always broke around Cooper, he didn’t know how the other man hasn’t realized what a grip he had on him. “It’s okay. Whatever you need.”

“Would you make love to me?” Cooper had a grip like steel on his arms.

There were a thousand things he could say, and maybe five that wouldn’t leave his heart aching. “Got any condoms?” he asked instead. Cooper shook his head. Albert dropped a kiss on the side of his neck. “Hang on a minute.” He slipped out of the bed as carefully as he could and made his way to the bathroom, digging through his travel kit. He refused to look in the mirror.

Cooper hadn’t moved a muscle, but as he got back in the bed, pulling the covers over them, as low as he dared, Cooper leaned over him and put a hand on his chest. His hand was slightly cool, which wasn’t right, and Albert wondered for a moment if maybe he was still shocky, then Coop was kissing him and every other thought pretty much went out the window.

Cooper kissed like he did everything else. Wholeheartedly, with scrupulous attention to detail, every fibre of his being focused on what he was doing in that moment. Albert was lost from the moment Coop first kissed him, and time and attempted distance hadn’t done anything to change that. He kissed back with as much care as he knew how, one hand cupping the other man’s cheek, the other low on his back, fingers splaying over the curve of his ass. Cooper’s ass was a true gift from God. 

Coop groaned a little, warm breath floating past his mouth. He dropped the lube square on Albert’s chest, straddling him as he did so. Coop was never subtle, either. Albert knew exactly what he wanted, and he obliged, sliding two slick fingers inside the other man. Coop moaned again, louder, shuddering inhale visible in the low light. Albert kept working his fingers in, setting up an off-kilter rhythm that pulled jerky breaths and gasps from Cooper’s mouth. He could — and had — made him come from just this, or with his tongue instead of fingers, but he didn’t know if Cooper would allow two orgasms, and he had been very specific about what he wanted. Still, he indulged himself a little, taking Cooper as close to the edge as he dared, not touching him anywhere else except to kiss him. It was exquisite torture, for both of them. 

Finally, Cooper couldn’t stand it any more and rocked forward, away from Albert’s fingers, and reached for his dick instead. “Please,” he gasped. He sounded drunk, wrecked. “In me —“

His kisses were desperate now, as Albert eased him onto his back. He fumbled with the condom, half because of his lube-slick fingers, half at the sheer image laid out before him, of Dale Cooper in his bed, writhing with need, cock hard and red, Coop almost biting his knuckles to keep from touching himself. Coop was the only man he knew who had no problems with another man’s tongue up his ass, but refused to masturbate. He finally got the condom on, applied more lube to give himself another moment to get his head together, and then dropped down over him, their bodies millimeters apart. “Cooper —“

“Albert, I need —“

Albert cut him off before he can get out another syllable, so he could pretend the next word had any chance of being ‘you.’ Cooper’s lips were soft, and parted so easily. His arms wrapped around his shoulders, unerringly finding the scar from the one time he’d convinced Albert to go out in the field, the thing that got this whole trainwreck rolling. His hands were on Cooper’s ass, his hips, smoothed over strong thighs, firm quads. He slid inside of Cooper, and some part of him felt like he was coming home. It was horrible. He couldn’t stop, didn’t want to. Cooper was moaning enough now to wake the dead, and leave them with absolutely no mistakes about what they were doing. Albert absolutely did not care. Part of him wanted to make Cooper absolutely _scream_. The rest of him reasoned that tomorrow was going to be bad enough as it was. Experience meant that part that won out, but it didn’t stop him from being selfish, welcoming the heat of Cooper’s body now while he could have it. He rolled his hips in sharp motions, rocking deep but not forceful, acutely aware of the massive wood headboard on the bed. 

Cooper raised his hips, bucks, trying to get closer, but they were as close as they could get short of crawling inside each other. Albert kissed him again, slowing his motions to an absolute crawl, angled Coop’s hips to drive him absolutely up the wall. Cooper came with an almost wail, muffled against the side of his neck, body arching in jerky spasms. Albert waited him out, soothing hands over trembling muscles, breathing coming back down to normal, and then he started up again, fucking harder, pounding, skin slapping hard against skin, the headboard matching, and it wasn’t long at all before he flew over the edge himself, coming hard in a way he never managed on his own. 

After a moment, he pulled away slightly and got rid of the spent condom. He considered what level of cleanup was appropriate, when he realized that his shoulder was damp and actively getting damper. Cooper wasn’t saying a word, his shoulders weren’t shaking, but he was crying quiet tears, a miniature version of the deluge they found themselves in earlier, and just as unstoppable. Albert gave up any hope of cleaning up further and pulled the sheets up to their shoulders. He wrapped his arms around Coop again and stroked his hair until one of them fell asleep. 

When he woke up a few hours later, the room had been cleaned to a fault, and Cooper was gone. He couldn’t exactly say he was surprised.


	3. Chapter 3

His apartment looks wholly unfamiliar. It’s been almost three months since he was last inside it, and while the cleaning service has kept it neat and detritus-free, the walls are eggshell white instead of comfortable wood, the bookshelves loom heavily with their rock-cut knickknacks, and the San Francisco Bay may as well be a poster.

He’s been living out of a suitcase so long, he’s not sure what to do with so many clothes. He shifts some dress shirts aside, making room for the flannel shirts, but they stick out like a sore thumb against the light colors. 

There are four kinds of coffee in the cupboard and several more in the freezer, but he knows none of them will taste right. 

Annie had sent him a postcard from the convent — addressed here, and not Twin Peaks. He put it on the refrigerator with a magnet. The main chapel of the convent sat a brilliant white under a clear blue sky. The reverse contained only the words ‘Have strength.’ He needed no help to memorize it, or the strong swirls of her handwriting.

He purchases groceries because that’s what he should do, and he stares at the display in the bakery for several minutes before leaving empty handed.

 

Dale only makes it partway through his first real case back before he breaks, and seeks out Albert in the medical suite. “What do you want, Cooper? I’m not even on your case, I’ve got a full load, and Marcinek’s halfway decent, so I don’t imagine you’re seeking a second opinion.” Albert doesn’t even look up from his microscope. 

“I need a medical diagnosis.”

“And again, I ask, why are you here and not bothering Marcinek?”

“It’s for me, Albert, and you’re the only one I believe has enough experience working with me over the years to say if this is truly an issue or if I’m just having a case of… well, trouble getting back up on the horse, I suppose.”

Finally Albert turns away from the scope, studying him narrowly. “You realize I’m not qualified for mental diagnoses.”

“Albert.”

“Then again, most medical professionals aren’t qualified for you.”

“I kept expecting to hear them.”

“Hear who?”

“You know who I mean. It was a perfectly ordinary case, bank robbery gone wrong, not a sign of Blue Rose anywhere around it.” Gordon would probably be keeping him on milk runs for some time. “An entire crime scene full of evidence, waiting to be collected and analyzed, but I couldn’t interpret one word of it. Instead I just sat there, waiting for someone to give me the answer. A voice from the air, a familiar, something. But everything was perfectly… normal.”

Albert frowns. “Coop, if your subconscious is still telling you you’re not ready…”

“I was ready. I had all the notes in my head, a theory, everything. And they flew right out the window the minute I stepped over the tape.”

“If you think you need more medical time off, you’re going to have to talk to a psych, it won’t mean word one coming from me.” Albert crosses his arms over his chest. Behind him somewhere, some piece of equipment blinks cheerfully.

“Do you agree that while my methods may be somewhat opaque to the outsider’s eye, I have always managed to have a firm grasp on the basic methods of collecting and analyzing physical evidence, and handling it in such a means that it may be brought forward in a court of law to bring perpetrators to justice?”

“Up until Twin Peaks, yes.”

“Albert, I have always relied to some degree on hunches or leaps of faith, but I have always viewed them as my subconscious leading me towards a conclusion that my conscious mind has not yet fully understood. This was different. This was just blankness. I was an empty canvas, waiting for a hand to reach down and sketch an answer upon my surface.”

Albert is silent for a moment, studying him. Then at last he speaks. “Tell me about the last dream you had.”

“My brother and I were on my father’s boat. Only it wasn’t my father’s, it was Emmett’s. But it was the same boat. We were going to Peru. Or maybe from Peru.” He frowns. 

“Sounds like an ordinary dream to me.”

Dale nods. “Certainly nothing to read into.” He looks up again. “Albert, when I consider how few people I have who truly know me, I am grateful to have a friend like you.”

It takes Albert a minute, and his response is still a guess. “You don’t think your brother would have noticed if you were — different?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think he’d recognize me if I were to come across him right now and show him my ID.”

One corner of Albert’s faced turns in a gesture that might be sympathy.

“Albert, I’m not sure if _I_ know who I am right now.”

* * *

Harry wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, or awake and still drunk. He was pretty sure he was still in the Bookhouse, but he couldn’t be sure — oh, no, he trashed the place, didn’t he? That seemed ...familiar. He’d trashed the place, threatened Andy with his gun — his _service weapon_ , Christ, the apology he owed for that one — the last thing he remembered was Cooper coming by and him shouting at him too, threatening him, but Cooper just took it all with a smile and then held him when he finally broke. He could still feel the ghost of that touch around his shoulders, warm like a brand across his back. He wanted it back, badly. He wanted to cry, but awake or not, there was someone in the doorway. One of his men. Seeing him break down this much was bad enough already. Weeping like a child would push things right over the edge.

But if Cooper was here — he couldn’t breathe with the sudden need for it, and he was awash with confusion. All he wanted was Cooper. He should want Josie back, but he couldn’t imagine holding her in his arms and not blithering a thousand questions he’d never get answers to. The thought of Dale Cooper was like all that Zen philosophy he was always talking about. Just an endless pool of calm, and that was what he wanted more than anything right now. Calm. Peace. He wanted Josie back again, desperately, but he wanted her back as she was last month, or even two weeks ago, not the frightened doll she’d become near the end. 

Oh god. He wanted life to go back to the way it used to be, before there were demons hiding inside of people, before Laura Palmer turned this town inside out. Before he ever heard of the name Dale Cooper. Dale Cooper, who moved as if he were standing still and the world turned beneath him. One touch was all it would take to break him down again — every time, one touch and he was lost. Dale’s grip was like iron, and his voice gentle and sure. He could almost see Dale crouching at the edge of the cot.

“You doing any better, Harry?”

“Coop?” 

Cooper smiled down at him. The dim lighting of the room made his outline waver. “Cappy said you were asleep.” 

“I was.” Maybe still was. 

“You should go back to sleep. It’s the best thing for you. Morning’s going to come too soon as it is.” A faint brush at his neck. Cooper taking his pulse?

“I don’t know what I’m going to see when I close my eyes.” Cooper leaned back to look at him, and he grabbed for his hand. “Stay.” God, he sounded desperate, words thick. “Please.”

Cooper softened. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.” He coaxed Harry back down — had he moved? He wanted Cooper to hold him again, wanted him to _stay_ , but he couldn’t say it, couldn’t figure out why he was drawn to the man like a magnet, poles reversing end over end until they were in alignment. There was a rustle of cloth as Cooper sat on the floor beside him, and then fingers in his hair, rubbing slow, unerring circles in his scalp, teasing out the stress of grief in gentle increments until, grudgingly, everything faded to black again.


	4. Chapter 4

The ringing of the phone wakes Harry out of a dead sleep, and he fumbles for the receiver, eyes still closed. “Sheriff Truman.” Maybe if he doesn’t open his eyes, it’ll just be a wrong number. 

“Harry?” It’s Cooper. He sounds — distressed is probably the kindest way to put it. Harry is instantly awake.

“Coop? Everything okay?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell. Are you —“ Cooper swallows audibly, trying to calm himself down. “Harry, how many doors are there?”

“Doors? Doors to what, Coop?”

“I had a dream. There were so many doors. Some bolted, some rusted shut. Others were open, some just a crack. I didn’t see any doors there, but that’s where they went?”

“Where?” Is Cooper having some sort of breakdown? He’d been back in San Francisco for weeks now, but now he’s making no sense. 

“The Lodge, Harry, the Black Lodge. When one door closes, another one opens.”

“Dale, where are you right now?”

“I don’t _know_ , Harry!” It’s almost a wail. His heart skips a beat. “It looks like my apartment, but I haven’t been in this apartment in twenty-five years, none of it’s right!” Twenty five years? If nothing else, the dream has definitely knocked Dale for a loop. 

“It’s okay, Coop. It’s okay. Here, look, no landlord in his right mind would let you keep the place for twenty-five years of not paying the rent, right?” He tries applying logic to the situation. 

“No,” says Dale slowly. “The lease would be long forfeit.” 

“And all your stuff out on the curb.”

“What if the curb isn’t —“

“Hell’s got better things to do than bother you about whether or not you’ve paid your rent, Cooper,” he interrupts gently. Dale makes a noise that might be agreement. “Listen, I’ll stay on the phone with you as long as you like, I swear, but is there anyone near you you could ask to come over?”

“Albert’s in DC,” Dale says, miserably but sounding much more rational. “I could try calling Diane...”

“If there’s anyone you’d feel good calling at —“ Harry glance at the clock and winces, “— two thirty in the morning and asking them to come over, you do it. Otherwise, I don’t know. Make a pot of coffee, or see if I can talk you down some more?”

“Yes, please.” Dale sounds both relieved and desperate.

 

Harry wakes a second time to knocking on the door. “Sheriff? Are you in there?” Andy. He looks down, sees the phone still by his ear, though ringing only with the sound of the dial tone now. He sits up, and groans as his back protests the awkward position he’d fallen asleep in. He can vaguely recall trying to coax Cooper through some of his Tibetan meditations. It must have worked at some point, he hopes, though most of the late night conversation is fuzzy. 

“Sheriff?”

“Just a minute, Andy!” Ugh. Everything is too bright — he can’t tell if the sun’s even properly up yet. He puts the phone back on the cradle and stumbles out to open the front door. “What is it?”

“Sheriff! Lucy was trying to call you, but your phone was busy, so she said I should come down here, and see if you were okay, and if you were okay, I should get you on the radio, and if you weren’t okay, I should let her know, so she could let someone know and could help.”

“Breathe, Andy.” He pats his shoulder. “Sorry, I was on the phone last night and fell asleep. Head into the kitchen and start me up a pot of coffee, would you? I’ll go see what Lucy wants.” Andy nods and flits past him. 

Harry steps out into the yard. There’s enough light on the horizon that the sun’ll be up soon, so it’s not too long before he’ll have to be up anyway. He leans through the rolled down window of the Jeep and grabs the CB. “Morning, Lucy.”

“Morning Sheriff. I have Agent Rosenfield on the line. He says he tried to call you and you weren’t answering. So I tried to call you and he was right. I’m going to transfer him —“

“Hang on Lucy. My phone was just off the hook by accident. Tell him to hang up and — actually, no, wait two minutes and then tell him to hang up and call my number. I’ll be in as soon as I’m off the phone with him, but it could be five minutes or five hours. If it’s five hours, send help.”

“It wouldn’t be interrupting something?”

“Not at the five hour mark.” Sometimes he loves his staff.

His phone starts ringing quickly enough that Albert probably hung up on Lucy the second she let slip that Harry’s phone was working again. He shoos Andy out the door with the same promise he made Lucy, but with less questions.

“Albert, you talk to Cooper this morning?”

“So far this morning I have had a small heart attack, explained to the desk staff at this shoebox that fails to pass itself off at a hotel that the ‘do not disturb’ order on my room applies to local calls only, and spoken with Cooper, yes. I have given him my direct number at the hotel so he can bypass whatever idiot they leave at the switchboard tonight.” When you’re in agreement with him, the tirade is actually almost endearing. 

“He called me about two thirty last night. I talked to him for a while after that, but at some point I fell asleep.”

“Hope you can itemize your phone bill,” Albert remarks. Harry doesn’t give a damn. “He sounded lucid when I talked to him.” He lets out a harsh breath. “He called the switchboard five times in as many minutes. These idiots, I’m surprised they told me he called at all.” There are noises at the other end of the line — Albert pacing and chain smoking, from the sound of it. “Harry, I can’t do this. I can’t leave him alone down there.”

“I can’t tell you how close I was to driving down there myself.” He shakes his head. “If I’d had someone else to put him on the phone with, I’d have broken every speeding law —“ 

“I’m going to ask Gordon to take me off the consult rotation.”

“What?”

“Local cases only. Day trips. No more going to Washington for a week to testify, not when they just need someone to read the file back to them. I’m changing my flight, I’m going to California tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Harry swallows, throat suddenly dry. “That still leaves the whole of the west coast.” 

“I think if I ask, Cooper will be willing to compromise.”

 

Albert’s words are true, and not 48 hours later he’s dragging Cooper up to Seattle, and Harry’s packed a bag and told Hawk to ‘for the love of god, mind the shop.’ 

It’s Dale who answers the door when Harry knocks. He’s got slight bags under his eyes, but otherwise he looks as alert and put-together as the first day they met. “Hello, Harry.”

Hello, nothing. Harry cups Dale’s face in his hands and, backing him through the door, kisses him full on the lips like he’s been wanting to do for ages. He keeps walking until they hit a wall, and Dale’s arms wrap around him. Dale’s kisses are soft but firm, accepting all that Harry has to give to him, easily keeping pace, like a leaf in a torrent. After a minute he pulls away.

“Well, that’s a hello I could get used to.”

Harry shakes his head. “You scared the crap out of us, Coop.”

Coop nods, looking apologetic. “As Albert has explained, in detail.” He kisses Harry again. “I am sorry, but I’m also very grateful that you’re both here.”

“No more dreams?” 

“Dreams, no, but sleep is still elusive. Every time I feel a draft…” He grips Harry tighter. 

“Where’s Albert?”

Albert clears his throat, and Harry looks up to see him standing in the doorway. 

“You just watching us?”

“I think you two were going to say ‘hello’ again.” Dale looks like he’s going to oblige him, but Harry drags Albert over for his own hello.

* * *

“No,” Albert said, and the word was horrible. It tasted like ashes in his mouth, and not the comforting, tobacco-tinged kind. He turned and fled into the hallway before he could change his mind, barreling out into the hazy twilight like there were demons chasing after him. And in a way there were. He lit up quickly, forced his hands not to tremble. 

He was onto his third cigarette by the time Harry found him. He knew it was Harry and not Cooper, because right now Cooper wouldn’t _dare_ , and if he did, he wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut this long.

“It’s none of your business.”

“No,” Harry agreed easily. “But I’d like it to be.” He came closer, presence close enough to offer comfort, but still circumspect enough to only offer, not assume it’s what Albert needs. He _really_ wanted to be irritated by the thoughtfulness. “You didn’t say no because you’re not in love with him.”

He exhaled sharply, the smoke making its way up to the fir trees. “Falling in love with Cooper is easy. Falling out of love is harder. Getting him to listen to reason, or even compromise — I’m not sure I’ve ever managed it.”

“Well there’s a first.” His shoulders tensed, readying himself to snap. “Albert Rosenfield underselling himself.” Truman laughed. “Coop very much respects your opinion.”

“In professional matters, maybe.” He couldn’t hide the bite in his voice. 

“More than that.” Truman’s voice was softer now. “And it’s hard, not being selfish when it comes to someone that important to you. I can’t see how what he’s suggesting could even work. But if it did work —”

“If ‘ifs and ands’ were pots and pans —”

“Once bitten, twice shy?”

He snorted. “Let’s not talk in proverbs. I am deeply in love with Dale Cooper, and for a time I thought he might love me in return, but I have come to acknowledge, through painful experience, that Dale will prioritize his own comfort over the happiness and potential safety of his partner, and I cannot abide someone who will break the rules on a whim and without thought to the consequences.”

“Are you sure he hasn’t learned something about consequences in the meantime?”

Albert had nothing to say.

There was just the slightest brush of a touch against his side. “You know where the key is,” Harry said, by way of goodnight, and disappeared back inside the office.


	5. Chapter 5

Dale takes one last look at Albert and Harry asleep in the bed — it’s a rare sight, Harry can sleep anywhere and through anything if he chooses to, but Albert will invariably disappear down the hallway to the ‘spare room’ before sunup, complaining in the morning of stifling heat, or unnecessary contortion, or just standing stiff-backed at the kitchen counter until he determines that they’re not going to say anything at all. Dale can’t say he wouldn’t prefer Albert to stay, but it’s enough that Albert is _here_ , he’s not going to push. Tonight especially is no night to push, he reflects, as he slides open the door to the balcony almost noiselessly. 

The moon is full and bright tonight, more than enough to see by, enough to allow the cones in his eyes to pick out some traces of color. Or perhaps it was just his mind filling in the color he knew to be there, like a tinted photograph. It isn’t quite the same as the view of San Francisco Bay from his old apartment, but the rolling hills carry on for miles, open sky above him, and suddenly he can _breathe_ again. It’s not claustrophobia, and he hates the phrase _lingering trauma_ , but he supposes it is to some degree accurate, and certainly easier to articulate to others than a _sudden and intense feeling that his mind is not his own_.

The air is still, the only sound the faint rumble of faraway traffic. It’s cool out, and he finds his toes involuntarily curling inwards against the chill. He clutches the balcony rail, gripped for a moment with the sureness that if he flung himself over the edge he’d sprout wings and fly away, noiseless wings and a predator’s feathers. The cold surface against his flesh cuts through the thought, which he recognizes as not his own, and he shudders. He should go inside. He should ask —

“If you’re going to spend the night stargazing, at least have the consideration to close the door behind you, it’s cold enough in here already.” Albert. He wants to turn, but is frozen. 

“And put a robe on, you’re like a block of ice.” But it’s not a robe Albert drapes over him, it’s his own arms, the warmth of his body pressing around him, and Dale steps back from the railing without even noticing. 

“I thought you said it was too warm in here.” His voice is rougher than he would like. 

Albert doesn’t comment. “Someone must have adjusted the thermostat. Don’t blame me when you get the electric bill next month.”

A smile tugs at the edges of his mouth. “Never.” He lets Albert lead him back to bed, closing the door behind them and locking it, even though they are ten floors up. Albert obviously suspects something is up, as he doesn’t veer towards his own private sanctuary but rejoins them in bed, one arm keeping Dale close against his chest, the other tugging Harry gently but with no great care not to wake him, molding him around Dale as well until he is bracketed completely. It should be too much, too close, for both of them, but the faint odor of tobacco that Albert carries with him at the best of times, and the brush of Harry’s curls against his cheek as his head settles on his shoulder sing to him of _home_ , of _here and now_. His heart beats strong, and as he closes his eyes, Dale Cooper knows no fear.

**Author's Note:**

> I did a bit of picking and choosing of canon, but somehow I managed to pick the hard bits (locations) and not the easy bits (Fire Walk With Me post-canon)? Sorry.


End file.
